


What we built together

by Applesap



Category: Bots Master
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Gender Identity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Boyzz gets created. ZZ takes up arms. </p><p>It's not clear when things started to change, and maybe they've always been this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've noticed the lack of Bots Master fanfics, which is suprising given the variety of themes that can be fleshed out. Maybe it's the lack of fandom...
> 
> Relationships undisclosed for now, but I am leaning towards writing about jammerzz/toolzz (which is the most obvious ship). The rest you'll have to figure out yourselves. Rating might go up the more violence I add.

A pair of tall and square shapes scavenge the piles of garbage around an abandoned factory. They don’t have to be quick, but they do have to be careful with what they pick up. The factory-slash-research lab belongs to the Robotic Megafact Corporation, which means that any foot in the wrong clearance will bring their mission to a full stop. However abandoned the building might be, it’s still under surveillance. It has only been a week since the factory closed and the scrap bots haven’t arrived yet to pick up the garbage it left behind and the materials that are still useful in the next programs. The huge piles of scrap metal behind the building are dark in the winter evening, but they know what to look for, having given a list with robotic components they have to bring home – accompanied by pictures, because the two have as much as an understanding about the internal workings of a robot like the average person has about the human body. By now their shopping cart is overflowing with limbs and torsos but lacks the technical bits that should make them up and running. The chips and CPUs and the wires are the needles in the scrap heap haystack.  
  
It’s beginning to get late, their clocks telling them they have been at it for an hour already. The two of them could dig through garbage all day and night without them noticing time had passed at all, but it was their boss who would get on their case if they didn’t return home before daybreak.  
  
“Maybe we should go an’ check inside,” one of them says. The other turns away from his inspection on complicated looking thingamabobs to his friend with a blank stare. Robots, especially old and outdated ones made from unpolished blocky standard models, have very limited facial expressions.  
  
“But how are we gonna get in?” he says.  
  
“Well,” the other says and picks up a cylinder block without a grunt. “Like this!”  
  
With a shaky swoop he swings it through a big glass window, the crash loud in the silent night.  
  
“Wow! Super cool! You’re like a ninja!” His companion’s voice pitches.  
  
“Don’t get sassy with me mister, _re-re-re_.”  
  
They help each other through the window and into the wide work place, leaving their shopping cart behind. The space is filled with cleared out conveyor-belts. A single security bot is ambushed and disabled in a second. There’s no sight of the tiny compartments they need. One of the two rummages through one of the boxes stacked to the side.  
  
“Hey Jammerzz,” he says. “These things look kinda cool. Think we can get ZZ to give him three arms?” He collects a bunch of shiny metal limbs in his four arms. They look pretty crisp and Jammerzz gives him a thumbs up.  
  
“Now you’re talkin’, Toolzz!”  
  
They don’t bother to sneak around the production lines in favor of finishing the job quickly. They pay no attention to the little red lights on security cameras as they inspect an in-case-of-fire map on a door. The guide tells them that if they want to find the stockroom, they should try a few doors to the right. They hobble off.  
  
When Toolzz moves his small round eyes over the twenty rows worth of mechanic materials, he almost drops his loot. “This is too much!” he squeals. “How are we ever gonna find whatever it is that we need in between all of this stuff!”  
  
Jammerzz puts his finger hand on chin and rubs thoughtfully. “Maybe we should rob one of the newer labs. I’m thinkin’, they keep track of all the new technology they make, right? We could be searchin’ for days here!”  
  
It is certainly a better plan. The other factory in the city worked on the newest models, which means upgraded technology ZZ was able to use on his new Boyzz. Jammerzz and Toolzz gathered that for the particular Boyzz he had in mind he needed more than just the usual internals and standard models. Their baby brother was going to be the fastest, strongest, bestest, smartest Boyzz he has ever created.  
  
On the other hand, infiltrating into a heavily guarded facility such as the RM corp would take a whole lot more time and they were hoping ZZ could have their newest member finished by tomorrow, if they came back early from their scrap hunt and provided he worked really, really hard tonight.  
  
“And put our entire mission in jeopardy?!” Toolzz asks incredulously. “We both know that we were not made to be careful, Jammerzz my good man.”  
  
A rough noise escapes from Jammerzz throat like it usually does when he knows Toolzz is right about something. “I guezz…” His voice coder buzzes. “But this ain’t helpin’ neither!”  
  
He gestures to the rows with his tool hand and puts the other on his hip. “Maybe those big letters up top can help us.”  
  
Toolzz looks up at the alphabetically aligned signs on the storage shelves. Of course! Having a wider and higher range of vision, Jammerzz would notice details like that.  
  
He snaps his fingers. “Jammerzz,” he says and stares at him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “You’re a genius!”  
  
“Heh, don’t I know it,” he says. “But uh, why again?”  
  
Toolzz, hands full with robot, hobbles over to the row closest to them. The labels on the boxes have a ton of tiny incomprehensible words on them, but the big titles on them correspond to the “A-C” marking on the top tier. Abandoned but sorted. Very nice.  
  
“This is gonna make our search a lot easier,” he says.  
  
“Aha! I see,” Jammerzz says, the corners of his metallic mouth curving up as much as they can, which is slight. He pumps his fist to his side in a victory sign, then pulls up the piece of paper they have been given. “Let’s see. In alphabetical order on the list: Carbon fiber. We got any carbon fiber here?”  
  
They spend the next hours climbing through the rows of marked and unmarked technology, gathering materials from external protection to motherboards until every line is crossed off from their list. There is not a shred of fatigue in their processors as they push over the cart with useless scrap and replace it with their new propitious findings.  
  
“Phew! All in a night’s work,” Toolzz says.  
  
“Eyep,” says Jammerzz. “Not even all night.”  
  
They head home.  
  
Twig isn’t used to staying awake so late. It’s 2 a.m. and he has been put on guard duty just for the act of welcoming the two Street Boyzz home. He groggily opens the door for them when they stomp on the hidden bell in the grass. “Delivery’s here!” they yell when the lift door opens. No one wakes at that, the sleeping cycle of the Boyzz being quite thorough and ZZ not allowing anybody to wake up before 7.  
  
“Hello,” Twig manages and accepts the hug Toolzz gives him around his broad belly with a pat on the head.  
  
“Whazzup Twig, we finished our gig.” Behind him, Jammerzz pushes the shopping cart forwards and disappears in Genesix’s laboratory.  
  
“Hey Twig,” Toolzz says. “We got some good freakin’ parts for him, Twig.”  
  
“Language,” Twig says, a tad too tired to play babysitter.  
  
“Heh, sorry, but I got a good feeling about him, Twig.” He releases his hold and looks up into the bigger Boyzz’s visor. He salutes. “G’night Twig.”  
  
“G’night Street Boyzz,” he says and watches the two link arms and head off to their shared room.  
  
Twig locks up for the second time that night. He flips off all the lights and settles down besides the car in the garage where he puts himself in stasis, finally.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phew, that took a while
> 
> ZZ builds a robot

Debris falls all around them while Twig franticly swerves on the road around the other fleeing vehicles. ZZ curses - something uncommon but not that much - at a rock hitting the roof. The Boyzz around him lock eyes and giggle at him with their metallic voices.They don't quite get what a disaster it is that they’re driving away from other than the crumpled buildings and explosions. After all, chaos is what they’re good at, what they were built for. But they don’t once think about the human lives they leave behind unless ZZ gives them the notion they should. Instead their master stares straight ahead at the road, fists balled on the auto-steering wheel and his jaw square, directing his sizzling anger inwards.

His blood boils white hot thinking about how this could’ve run smoother. Next time he has a solid plan without carelessly rushing in with an attitude of “let’s see how we go from here”. Not all fights can be won with pure strength alone, no matter how heavy he makes Jammerzz arms or how much he upgrades Twig into something more than a glorified chauffeur.

Besides that, It’s suffice to say that ZZ got fired big time, meaning his team has lost an insider. For months Ziv has been tracking any irregularities in the company, any undocumented export and import, any out of place change in security programming. Losing that has given him a significant setback in his progress and if he somehow could get that back…

Syke. He’s already put a lot of time into thinking about the solution and he’d take himself for a fool if he didn’t have a backup plan. The answer is of course ninjas.

His new Boyzz won’t have to work there like he had, that’s ridiculous. His function is to break in, stealing data and sabotaging new operations. And if he gets caught his ninja oath will prevent him from leaking information from ZZ’s side. It was brilliant. It was waterproof. It was completely unrealistic if his Street Boyzz hadn’t gotten his parts a few weeks ago when the water under his feet had begun to boil. The really expensive bits he could not afford to buy with his own money, or the company’s as budgets and funding have a tight regulation. At least when it comes to what the common workers do with it. LLP has quite the record on his name.

ZZ smiles and loosens his grip on the wheel, letting it turn without any resistance from his part. On his Street Boyzz he can always count.

It’s silent in the car and none of the Boyzz known if they should be celebrating with their leader being unresponsive to their antics as he is. He twists his head over his shoulder, facing his team on the back couch and Blitzy in shotgun. No, Blitzy is part of the team now too. A little appreciation and validation would be in order.

“You did good, guys,” he says finally. His crew cheers, car included.

Then its chaos and mayhem again. Toolzz and Jammerzz chat animatedly about their coolest stunt while Blitzy interrupts every so often to ask questions. D’nerd compliments Twig quite a few times. All is good again and ZZ doesn’t think about falling buildings and coworkers again.

At home, formerly his grandfather's not-that-secret private research facility, he introduces Blitzy to his crew. It’s more of an overly expensive summer house, but it is a good place for his Boyzz to come home to. It’s loud when they come in and it’s loud when he takes off. Instead of flopping down on his new bed face first and snoozing till next week like he planned to the entire way back, he shuffles off to the lab. There is always more work to do, Genesix agrees, and leaves him alone.

Ziv takes one last look out of the unwashed windows before he lowers the building into the ground. From now on, they’re hidden. His house will be put under surveillance, no doubt, and his work doesn’t even cross his mind, other than his secretary collecting all his boring paperwork and snitching on him to LLP about what she thinks is valuable data. He doubts he can walk the streets like a normal citizen. How Blitzy will fare, he has no idea. She’s tough, but that’s not the problem. She still has school and her friends to go to.

ZZ sits down on a worn but recently unused rolling chair with a little ‘oof’. In the middle of the room lies a robot’s skeleton with doodads attached to it ready to be put together. This is his ninja: Ninjzz, he’s gonna call him. He smiles wryly and tired at the name he chose for their new member. Could hardly call him Naruto, or Zzazzuke, although his team would love it. His Boyzz would have a field day with names if he allowed them to pick it out.

He rubs his temples and asks for coffee, and the room provides a steaming cup from the automatic espresso machine. He pulls his freshly washed overalls from the coat rack and dresses himself over his jeans and white shirt, then grabs his cup and starts his work.

It isn’t often that ZZ creates new Boyzz from scrap. The bodies are either dished out of a junkyard or put together from different modules, or bought for a bargain price. Ninjzz is different. Each part of him has been thought out, from the vantablack that will make him practically invisible in the dark to the titanium knuckles in his fists. The three arms his Street Boyzz had taken with them were quickly discarded, their material much too weak in comparison with what he could make Ninjzz into, but he kept the idea.

His creations always turn out to be bigger than anticipated, no matter how much he follows the blueprints (that he made his damn self). Birden, one of the exceptions when it comes to his ready-made Boyzz creation package, was never intended to be bigger than the size of a blackbird, but had come out twice the height and weight he had been on paper.

Ninjzz is exactly as tall as he should be. And then some.

Before he knows it ZZ is covered in oil with new cuts in his hands to rub it in. Somewhere around four he had stopped making new coffee, and his half-empty cup stands forgotten somewhere he can’t remember. His desk is cluttered with grease-stained paper, nuts and bolts, pens, zip ties, etcetera, preventing any order in his work but surrealist automatism. He couldn’t stop if he tried. If he pulls through for one hour more he’ll be finished with the exterior and then he can start on the Boyzz himself, meaning his personality, which was no doubt the most interesting part of it all. Just this layer of paint. Then wait for it to dry. Then the second layer with black. Then he could start with the programming. Check up on the paint in between, maybe.

Every single Boyzz has to be programmed self-contained; No copies, no line left out, and it’s harder every time he does it. Time is pressing and it’s not because of his impatient Boyzz. There is a corporation that needs to be stopped, a man that needs to be put behind bars. There is an entire civilization that needs to be warned. If he wont, who will? After all, he is the reason for the corporation’s power hunger in the first place. Today’s mission was a complete disaster. He will set it right himself.

Ziv stares at the empty shell of a future Boyzz, yet to transcend from robot to sentient being. The carbon fiber gleams in the dim glow of his bureau lamp, the only source of light in his underground lab. Pretty soon the only thing left for him to do will be installing its personality. That is always tricky.

It needs psychology, something that drives it, and personality traits unique from the rest of the Boyzz. Other than his previous companions, this one is made for a much more serious purpose: missions, warfare, elimination, liberation.

But guerrilla is not going to be its only daily activity, just like dismembering bots isn’t the Street Boyzz’s. He isn’t going to put this one is stasis whenever it is not needed, and his main goal has always been to give his Boyzz a personality and sentience to use it.  
He had a list in his laptop with keywords ninja related, which is this bot’s theme. Likes and dislikes were easy, putting in whatever he thinks is cool so they have common interests, but creating an ideology based upon the limited ninja sources he knew of was a lot more challenging.

His hands are deeply rooted in wires which curl through the robot like a forest of nerves when he stifles a yawn that has been wanting to make its way out of his mouth for a very long time. A quick glance over his little radio (turned off for the moment, can’t have music on right now, can’t hear it over the exhaust ventilation and soldering anyway) tells him it’s 8:25 in the morning. What time had he started again? His eyes barely shut as he blinks from the desk light to his not so precise fingers in the dark internals of his Boyzz. Should probably put a light in here. Yeah, bio-lights. Just in case he has to repair him in the dark.

The sound of the sliding door jolts him right up, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of a valve.

“Shit,” he says, checking his fingers for new cuts, and hopes it’s not Kiddie who comes in. God help him if he starts to get an even bigger mouth.

“According to my chronometer, it has been more than 24 hours since you have last slept in a bed, prompting me to check up on you, as your doctor and your friend.”

“Hey Doc,” ZZ groans. He hasn’t used his voice in hours, nor has he had anything to drink since then. “Almost finished.”

Doc walks over his desk and moves the grease stained cloth from the now-soiled papers to the laundry basket with the rest of them, then rubs his hands together, as if that helps the metal plate rubbing the dirt away one bit.

“I don’t think so, ZZ,” Doc says. “Don’t think he can walk right out like this, naked as the day.” He puts his hands in his sides and shakes his clunky head. “Not at all ZZ. I’d rather have you go to bed. Can’t have you messing up our newest member because your hands are shaky from too much coffee and too little sleep. Can’t have him spilling out his guts first time he jumps.”

Alright, so his hands are shaking a little. “Just one more thingy, Doc.”

“Well, make it quick,” Doc says, and puts his hand on the sliding door. “Oh, and take a shower, ZZ. You’re burning my olfactory sensors away.”

“Alright, Doc.”

“Oh, and go ask Cook for something to eat.”

“Will do, Doc.”

“Carry on, ZZ.”

“Bye, Doc.”

ZZ rubs his eyes, and from the burning they receive he realizes that´s a mistake. The sleep stings in his eyes along with the grease. Now he realizes how tired he has been. Blinking the tears away, he runs his hands over wires and snaps the panels and bits shut. Without thinking he smears an oil-covered fist over his lips because they’re chapped and dry. The bitterness of the oil makes his face scrunch up.

“Bleh,” he says and sticks out his tongue, but it doesn’t do anything to the taste.

Off to the shower, he guesses, and lets out a big sigh. He’s not yet done. Not yet done at all, when he had promised the Street Boyzz he would be as soon as possible. They would have to hold out just a little bit longer then. It would be worth it.


End file.
